Dav Pilkey as Captain Early Start & Anna Riphahn

We were sent this beautiful book The Timekeeper by grandparents. Believe it or not, it was written and illustrated by a 13 year old. It's part of a series that used to exist called the National Written and Illustrated By awards for kids. It used to exist 1985-1998, releasing three books a year based one age category, and occasionally one or two "gold awards." It went defunct for about a decade. It rebranded in 2006 and released a few books, and then went silent again. Too bad, because it looks such a great program.

The back of The Timekeeper has a tiled display of all the book covers and all the authors. I had a jolt when I realized I actually recognized one of the names: Dav Pilkey, the author of the fabulous Captain Underpants series.

He won in 1986 when he was 19 for his book World War One.

I just looked at his website and he has 62 books in print. We should all have such a prolific career, launched at such an early age!

Fun fact: He was born Dave but his nametag from when he worked at Pizza Hut omitted the final E, so he kept it that way for his author name.

Returning to The Timekeeper, author Anna Riphahn tragically died only three years after her book was published. She died in a highway accident. When you read through the book, you see what expressive paintings she created, and you take a big inhale thinking of everything she might've been capable of.

Look at the laborious pottery border--each page has a gorgeous border a la Jan Brett

From this History Guy video in the Topeka Capital-Journal, we learn that she tried first in 1991 with a book and won Third Place. The next year, she tried with a different book and won Second Place. Her third book was the charm, winning first place and publication.

Perseverance. I love it.

Anna's photo from the back of the book

Thank you so much for tracking down and sending us this book, Earl!

 . . . . .

Last post about the Klimt exhibit

(although it has nothing to do with Klimt)

In the permanent collection, my husband pointed out a plaque that made us laugh. I had assumed "The Candelight Master" was the name of the painting. But it was the name of the artist.

Forgive me if this is a big thing I missed out on. I never took Art History.

So then of course, anyone who loves Prince as much as he does has to joke, that when his town got electricity, he was "the artist formerly known as the candlelight master and now known as the fluorescent blurb master."

Of course because I feel an obligation to the paltry few of you who actually read this blog (and because it's so miserably short today), I took a moment to google this artist. 

Proving you really do have to have money to have a gallery named after you

He had the very worrisome name of Trophime Bigot (but don't worry, he was French so you'd pronounce it Bee-joe...or wait, maybe a hard G? Bee-go? I'll have to consult on this one and return)

He lived 1579-1650, was born in Arles (bullfight place I've visited and sobbed about, poor bulls), and was actively painting in Rome and Provence. He's buried in Avignon, where the popes used to live (I visited but didn't cry).

There's some controversy that he was thought to be a father and son, but historians determined that he was the same guy painting in two very different styles, depending on what his patrons wanted.

And, and, and...he did one of the Judith & Holofernes beheading paintings that I was just sharing with a class a month ago. Wow. Small world.

A lot can happen by candlelight.

Hm...murder assisted by a maid...where I have heard that before?

. . . . .

Klimt & Rodin exhibit, Legion of Honor

Man with Portrait of Johanna Staude, unfinished thanks to the flu

AKA Klimt, part 2, far more cheerful!

Klimt is amazing. This exhibit is incredible. 

 

The colors and depth were so spectacular that when we moved from the Klimt exhibit into the older paintings in the permanent collection, I literally felt a let-down. The paintings there seemed flat. I still love them...but damn, Klimt does everything I want an artist to do!

(and Rodin's pretty cool too. But I have a grudge against him because it was at his museum in Paris that I hemorrhaged and had to go to the ER—my little French/English dictionary had the word for "miscarriage"—and thought I'd lost a baby yet again. But! she's here, thank God).

I like to say Legion of Honor. It sounds like you're not just looking at art, but doing something noble.

It's a glorious museum with a Rodin "The Thinker" out front and even a miniature pyramide de verre like the Louvre.

Anyway, I love Klimt and we drove six hours round-trip to see this exhibit (actually shouldn't have taken that long, but see previous post). Plus, wanted a date day in the big city.

It's a small exhibit with five rooms, but there is a wealth there that could take up hours if you weren't being jostled for space by lots of other viewers. Hint to Legion of Honor: please make description plaques twice as large (and maybe even duplicate them to place on either side of wider pieces)—sometimes you'd have to move through a sea of 20 people to read the plaque and then you don't get to look at the painting again with the newfound information. I heard several other people complain about the small print. 

This exhibit space is gorgeous: look at the ceilings! The black and white photograph you see on the back wall is a reproduction of Klimt's "Medicine." See a few paragraphs below for an explanation.

This is Klimt himself, coolest of the cool. Sadly he died of pneumonia complicating his 1918 flu (which I blogged about here) or we'd have so much more art to delight our eyes.

Loving the vibe

One of the many things that makes him great:

He tried three times to get into the prestigious Ecole des Beaux Arts, failed and then went on to be one of the most well-known artists of all time.

Another thing that makes him great: he fathered 14 kids. And you can tell by this picture why and how:

Section of a much larger frieze

Another thing: there is an early painting of his (a seashore landscape that I'm mad at myself for not photographing so I could show you) that is fully representational to the degree it's nearly photographic. He was so damn talented, but decided that was boring, and so moved on to create his own style. Here's a few details of his explosive use of color and built-up texture:

detail of painting I failed to write down the name of

Detail of Klimt's other painting I didn't write down the name of
Hey, this isn't investigative journalism!

Another bit of admirable coolness: He was commissioned by the University of Vienna to create three huge paintings, allegorical representations of Medicine, Philosophy and Jurisprudence. He created the first, Philosophy, and it was thought to be pornographic and there was public outcry. He withdrew it and entered it in the 1900 World's Fair competition and won the Grand Prix! Eff you, establishment! All three were destroyed by a fire in the Austrian castle where they were stored during WWII, and all that exists are black and white photographs of these lost pieces.

If you live in the San Francisco Bay Area, this exhibit closes Jan. 28 so get thyself hence post-hastily!

. . . . 

Klimt, collapses and car crashes

 

See how the tire is revealed by the entire bumper being demolished?
It almost took off his axle.

The other day I was hanging out with a friend and describing how someone had rung our doorbell around midnight and I looked out from the balcony and saw how one person had hidden himself behind our Spanish arch while the other was at the door and called out frantically to my husband, "Don't open the door! It's bad guys! One's hiding" ...

and how my husband called 911 before we understood they were the law (it was two sheriffs on a very strange mission that I still don't fully understand, and I guess one had hidden himself in case my husband opened the door and shot his colleague), ...

and in the same conversation we talked about how I'd forgotten my purse at a teachers' meeting and how the (very nice!) person who took it for me since campus was closing happened to live an hour away, and just a few other things, and she said, "You have the most drama in your life of anyone I know."

I had to laugh, but it kind of hurt. In fact, after the sheriffs departed, I had asked myself, "Why does all the weird stuff happen to us?"

So that was Jan. 11.

On Jan. 23, we were part of two more 911 calls in the space of 40 minutes. We went to San Francisco for the Klimt and Rodin exhibit which closes Jan. 28–if you live in the area, you have four more days to see an absolutely incredible exhibit. It was fabulous. We loved touring the exhibit and then the permanent galleries of the Legion of Honor.

We looked at the time and realized our hope of getting a fun lunch in San Francisco had evaporated time-wise. So we headed down to the basement cafe of the Legion to grab something quick and head home. At the bottom of the stairs was a woman on the floor surrounded by a small group of people, having CPR administered.

My husband works in the ER, so he went over to check in. Things were already underway, but we were part of that drama for about 20 minutes. I stood there, tears prickling in my eyes, thinking, "Is this how this woman dies? On the floor of the museum?" and thankfully, she opened her eyes eventually and was able to speak to the caregivers.

Someone had called 911, and soon enough the paramedics were there to take over.

Kind of a sacred moment as a life was saved.

So incredible.

And then, as one does, we resumed the concerns of the living: food. But there was a long line to get into the cafe. We resolved we would get on the road and see how traffic treated us; maybe we could get something fast on the way.

This is how quickly that long line of cars forms after an accident.
I wonder how long traffic was affected.
There was a ton of debris in the road, glass and metal, so cars had to slow
to get past the accident site. To make things better, that meadow on the left was filled with cows.

About 20 minutes into our drive, something happened in front of us. I can't even say what it was (I'd make a terrible eyewitness), but there were cars in front of us colliding, and it was only due to my husband's excellent defensive driving that we were not involved. He braked hard and swerved, and we missed the car in front of us by mere feet.

It was a three-car crash and we were almost the fourth. 

We pulled over to be witnesses (my husband had paid attention and knew who was at fault) and give our number to the other drivers. Both our phones had died (despite being charged all night the previous night and my not running any draining program: more drama) but luckily his had been charged just long enough in our 20 minute drive for me to call 911.

After a long time, the police officer arrived and we took off. We knew we were never going to get home in time, so we changed to charging my phone just enough to call the wonderful person we were going to be late for.

Traffic sucked and because we were on the road an extra hour because of it, we had to stop for gas. More drama.

So, we were part of three 911 calls in a week.

Let's hope things slow down for a little.

I guess the one thing I can say is, the Klimt exhibit was still worth it. And tomorrow I'll post photos. Undramatic photos.

Best defensive driver and CPR overseer ever.

Me, art lover. Our parking spot just happened to have a spectacular view of that
Golden Gate Bridge (I'm so used to typing Bridget, my character in The Murderer's Maid
that I literally just wrote, Golden Gate Bridget)

(And that's what I love about San Francisco. You just, you know, pull over on your way to the museum and there's a world-class view people get in an airplane for.)

. . . .

Historical Novels Society conference 2013: The Vinoy

The Vinoy at night, from the waterfront

I previously posted about the panel I served on, along with Kathleen Kent, Mary Sharratt and Suzy Witten, three fabulous and fascinating novelists who write about witchcraft. Now I'd like to talk about the Vinoy Hotel, where the conference was held....because it really was an amazing hotel.

I kept expecting to see Danny on his Big Wheel coming down the hallway

It was very Floridian, with pink shell color on its Art Deco facade, but it also gave me Overlook overtones. It was a hotel of the same era, where people would come for the entire season and attend those balls with live orchestras.

Chihuly glasswork in the lobby case

In the lobby (besides an incredible Chihuly display), a collection of photos showcased the hotel's history and its astounding multimillion-dollar renovation. It had spent 18 years empty; there's something so evocative to me about formerly grand places in decay (viz., the Titanic).

The Chihuly Museum is here in town (the town being St. Petersburg, Florida). I really wanted to go. I love Chihuly, who I first encountered upon entering the San Jose Museum of Art, where he has two enormous hanging glass pieces in the front lobby...which made me think in an earthquake, I'd know exactly where not to stand. And then in the Bellagio in Las Vegas, I marveled at the magnificent Fiori di Como ceiling near the registration desks. Finally, Dale Chihuly gets sort of bandied about in a novel I'd just read called Where'd You Go Bernadette, which I loved beyond speaking, so I was really excited to see the evidence of his handiwork here and there in the hotel. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to swing visiting the museum although I walked right past it. Nor was I able to see the Dali Museum, whose architecture is said to be one of the top 10 buildings you have to see before you die. Well....now I don't have to die, right?

The Chihuly chandelier in the Vinoy ballroom...I was not the only one to see a Medusa in it

Lovely architectural details abound in the bar. Because that's what matters in a bar.

The hotel's bar was really lovely and I'm happy to say I spent a fair amount of time here chatting with friend and fellow novelist Vanitha Sankaran and then later....dancing to the DJ with a bunch of other booty-bumping HNSers. I didn't know until the next day that it was a wedding party. Without the veils and bouquets, who can tell?

Darn, it's out of focus. This is the muy cool lobby.

Angry at myself for not getting a better shot of the lobby, the heart of the hotel after all. This is the room where you try to rally after a redeye flight, when it's 6 a.m. their time, 3 a.m. your time, and your room won't be ready for another couple hours. Luckily, there's a veranda with a great view of the boats in the marina so you can slump and contemplate dry heat versus humid heat until your room is ready.

But the room is worth waiting for!

My view as I walked in....why, are those chairs for reading? How lovely of you, Vinoy!

View from other side of the room. Love the lime walls with magenta chairs.

The room was gorgeous and I contemplated sleeping on each bed on alternate nights. Instead, I stuck with the one by the door so I'd be aware and ready when Jack Torrance came with the ax. Actually, the Vinoy is reputed to be haunted. When I made my reservation, I specifically asked for a room that was not haunted. The woman laughed and said, But we need fresh souls from California.

She didn't really say that. I would have loved it if she had.

A room with a view: Helena Bonham Carter, eat your heart out!

I had two windows with lovely views that really underscored I was in Florida. Palm trees! It's hard to tell, but the aqua square is a lovely fountain, and the white chairs are all set up for the wedding whose dance party would be later overtaken by bookish drunks on a tear. I kept looking at this picture, wondering what the odd pale business card looking thing is, with the blue stripe hanging down, towards the left of center. I just figured it out: it's my necklace thing, what's it called? That you wear around your neck so you can get into the conference? And the blue dangler said "Speaker" on it. It had flipped around backward to be immortalized in the window reflection.

I think that's all for the Vinoy. In my next post, I'll share images of some of the sessions I attended.


. . . . .

Offbeat Xmas Part I: “Unhappy Hellidays”

Alan and I drove from Oakland to Las Vegas (8.5 hours) in the hopes of finding a Christmas that matched our moods this year. 

Our first choice was the ghost town Bodie, but it sits off the highway on a 10-mile dirt road that is ostensibly covered in deep snow, so we changed our destination to Portland, Oregon. Then we got the weather reports that Portland was just as deluged with rain as we were, so we decided to hit our old friend Las Vegas.

We had a pretty noneventful ride down the length of California. Near Barstow, I saw a sign for a ghost town called Calico, which got me in a frenzy of excitement. I could get my ghost town after all! Alan promised we’d hit it on the way back [insert ominous oboe sounds….]

We arrived in Vegas just after midnight on the 24th, which means we checked into our nondescript, non-strip, non-casino hotel on Christmas Day itself. 

Christmas Day included some random gambling (craps being our game), looking forward to that evening for the first event that would mark this as an Offbeat Christmas. : the Unhappy Hellidays exhibit at MTZC. MTZC is an art gallery that advertises “No wine, cheese or children.” Here’s the description that attracted us:

"Unhappy Hellidays" (First Friday 12/2/05 - 1/2/06) - Not everyone embraces the Hallmark spin on this time of year. MTZC's disturbing December exhibit is a group show that allows no fewer than 23 artists (each with their own coal-filled sweat-sock nailed to the mantle) to explore the depths of cynicism & misery some people experience during this month with the highest suicide rates. FREE

We enjoyed such pieces as the Last Bath, a photograph showing a woman’s legs in a bath of blood, and the row of yucky sweat socks nailed to the mantel. When we arrived, one of the socks had already been filled by Santa, with a flyer illustrating sexual acts. Cybele, the co-artist of this latter piece with Mark T. Zeilman, is shown here in front of it in her holiday evening gown. 

Get ready for the Oakland connection: Cybele used to live in Adam’s Point! I can’t explain her terrible oversight in choosing to leave Oakland, but she was wonderful and it was great to talk to her.

We also really liked a piece by Lorraine Leslie, pictured at the top of the post. A Dia De Los Muertos-esque Santa pulls a sobbing, terrified little girl onto his lap. The painting is framed with a “candy cane” that is smeared with blood. Lorraine was there too, and she wore a t-shirt that read, “Waste your life. Be an artist.”

Also present was Michael Kruis, who owns the gallery next door, and Brian Paco Alvarez. We had a great time with these guys and their eggnog; it was the perfect way to spend this particular Christmas evening. Here’s a picture of, from left, Cybele, Michael, Brian doing an Imitation of Christ, Lorraine and Alan.

We were so glad we went to this showing. For all the times we’ve gone to Las Vegas, this was the first time we ever connected with real people (other than the dealers’ perennial “Where you folks from?”) who actually live real lives there.

It was also the night we got some terrible, terrible advice [oboes sound again].

Next time: Alan gives blood in Las Vegas.

. . . . .